


Galaxy Lube

by brokenstereotype



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: All Legal Age, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Zayn, Boys In Love, Extra Cheese, Fluff, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Teacher Niall, Teacher-Student Relationship, Top Niall, University Student Zayn, all consensual, niall compliments zayn a lot, they're in love, we'll go slow in high tempo, why is this so long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenstereotype/pseuds/brokenstereotype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn accidentally sends his nudes to Professor Horan, whom he may or may not be in love with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Galaxy Lube

**Author's Note:**

> this took me forever to finish, the heartache of ziall was drowning my words.
> 
> dedicated to frankie, my disney ziall hoe - [zaynfeatnjh](http://zaynfeatnjh.tumblr.com)

Zayn got a Brazilian wax.

It's strange to think about it - even more strange to hear the words come out of his mouth.

It had been Harry's idea, of course.

With finals fast approaching, the sweet promise of an obligation free summer teasing him almost as painful as his incredibly fit World Studies teacher - Professor Niall Horan. (Queue the sappy love hearts and nauseating rainbows that never fail to fill up in Zayn's stomach at just the thought of the young-blond-beautiful-infuriatingly-perfect-son-of-a-bitch that he's had the horrendous pleasure of having for a teacher.)

Harry finally had enough with his constant fussing and overdramatics about which tragic event would occur first - flunking out of university or literally dying from a severe case of blue balls.

He'd taken him to a tanning salon where they know him by name and asks if he wants his _regular treatment_.

Zayn's never been one for waxing himself, but he has to admit that it does feel nice. Smooth. Clean.

He's standing in front of the mirror, naked as the day he was born, admiring the hairless skin. He hasn't been able to stop lightly caressing the area below his navel, sensitive in a way that alerts his cock into a standing position.

It's just after ten at night - he has a Current Events paper to revise and send off to Professor Horan before the clock strikes twelve.

He feels different now.

As if getting the patch of hair ripped off of him with hot wax also removed the stress and tension he's held captive for weeks.

His dick seems to dig the new hair-do, the tip slicking his stomach with precum like a praise of approval.

After drowning himself in his studies and torturing thoughts of his _extremely_ unavailable teacher - maybe he does deserve a bit of _me time._

Lights in the room are turned down, a thin red scarf thrown over the lampshade on his bed side table basking the room in a darkened light. Shadows cast over his flushed skin, accentuating the dark lines inked upon his sharp hip bones.

Sometimes he catches Professor Horan's eyes cutting to his exposed arms, taking in the ink splattered down to his hands, even as he addresses a room full of students with that loud enthusiasm that was the sole reason for him not dropping the class and instead taking a much more interesting class like ceramics.

He runs his hand down the soft flesh of his body, admiring the way the absence of hair makes his cock seem longer, more room for activity. He's already hard, thrum running through his bloodstream like a drum line.

In that moment, he wishes there was somebody whom he could share this with. To be able to hold enough trust in another person, enough to want to send them intimate moments of your life, knowing that it would only drive them crazy...and knowing that it was for their eyes only.

In that moment, he thinks of Professor Horan.

He thinks of how he would react - if Zayn actually had some balls to speak to the man, rather than hide behind his textbooks. He yearns for a time in which the young professor would seek out Zayn in the middle of a lecture, seeing him nose deep in the latest novel he's obsessed with for that day, and just wishing the day to go by faster so that he could finally wrap his arms around Zayn, bury his face in his hair and inhale the remnants of graphite and acrylic paint still lingering from art class.

He would do so much cute shit for Professor Horan - all of the sappy bull shit he usually gags over during those cheesy rom-coms. He would play the love sick boyfriend, if it meant getting to explore the mind of the young teacher, his interests, his thoughts and theories.

Zayn's so hard just thinking about it.

He scoops up his phone from his bed, ready to text Harry and thank him once more for the pamper treatment, but when he unlocks his phone, the camera pops up. He hesitates over the back button, can't seem to tear his mind away from the image on the screen.

The lighting is darker in pixelated form, a little grainy - but it looks good. The red tint makes it seem as if his body is on fire, flames licking at the bare skin. He didn't know he could look so...sexy.

He snaps a couple of pictures like that, enough to show off the prominent lines leading down his hips, body twisted slightly to stretch the black inked heart across his skin.

With careful consideration, he saves those pictures to a folder on his phone labeled with a winking emoticon.

Harry had bought him some goodies for his special night with himself, as if this is a celebration. But, it kind of feels like one.

The black shopping bag gets placed on the bed, against the wall, as he lays down in the middle, stretching his limbs across the silky sheets and just - breathes.

He wants to make this good for himself, a much deserved session where he can worship his own body like he craves for someone else to do.

Inside of the bag, there is a bottle of lube that Harry presented to him with a full ballerina twirl and all.

 _Galaxy Lube_ , is what the label says.

It's a pretty pastel pink color, shining with glitter that tastes like strawberries. The banner on the front says that it's supposed to make your orgasm so intense, it'll be as if you're floating in the galaxies.

He wonders if Professor Horan likes space and the galaxies. Does he like strawberries?

The liquid is cold when he squirts a decent sized amount in his palm, admiring the way it leaves a trail of sparkles in its wake.

Usually, Zayn despises glitter. The way it stays attached to your skin even after what feels like years since you've last put it on. But, there's some kind of moisturizer in this lube, and it makes his skin ridiculously smooth, so..he can deal.

The first press of contact to his body makes a shiver roll through his abdomen, a surprised laugh squeaking out of his mouth. He glides his hand around, slicking his skin in the shiny substance, waves of sweet artificial strawberry filling the room.

He takes a picture like that; skin slicked and shiny like those models that pose for fake beaches and are doused in baby oil.

The glitter makes his tattoos stand out.

The lube starts to heat his skin as he slowly strokes himself, a hidden fire beneath his fingertips, blood bubbling like tiny pin pricks under the surface of his skin.

"Oh." He gasps, moan slamming against his chest and falling out of his lips loud and unabashed.

His left arm comes up to rest behind his head, fingers gripping his own hair and tugging, hard, although it's no use without the promise of pleasurable pain from someone else's control.

Legs shaking, eyes screwed shut - he slaps his arms down the bed, fumbling until he finds purchase on his phone, snapping a picture of the length of his body. He flutters his eyes open, biting his lip obscenely for the cameras benefit and makes sure to slow the pace of his hand so as not to blur the image.

Since he's feeling damn sexy, he slides his hand up the slippery slope of his body, glitter dripping onto his collarbone as he lifts his hand to his face..and snaps quick shots of himself licking the lube off of his hand.

He wishes he could date himself and send these pictures to himself as a birthday present.

The glitter shines against his skin, staying true to its name and turning his body into a galaxy. Hopefully the camera can pick up on the shower of sparkles, basking him in a mess of pink and sliver.

When he comes, he holds the button down with a firm finger, wanting to capture the way his face contorts into euphoria, how his head tosses back against the pillow with a mouth wide open to accommodate the explicit noises spilling from his throat like a leaky faucet.

Once the high wears down to a low buzz, his body slumps into the mattress, limbs sated and heavy, eyes drooping in welcomed exhaustion.

He takes a few pictures of his cum covered skin, the glitter making it look almost like a potion. He hopes that the blissful look on his face looks more endearing than wrecked, but he knows that he'll remember how mind shattering that orgasm was, and nobody has to understand but him.

"Galaxy lube," He laughs to himself, impressed, but also amused.

He sends the photos to his email, keeping them together in an untitled folder. It's about half past eleven, tiredness wrapping around his bones. He dresses in a pair of worn out boxers and an oversized sweater, picking his laptop from the desk and settles cross legged in the middle of the bed with the computer nestled in his lap.

Setting up the impending email to Professor Horan is easy, since he's the only one Zayn ever sends emails to, and titles it appropriately, _World Studies - Current Events Assignment #13_

His phone's shrill ringtone cuts through the silence, making him jump in his place out of surprise.

"Hey, H." He greets, voice syrupy slow and drowsy. When Harry speaks, the smile is audible in his voice.

 _"Had a nice night?"_ He teases. Zayn smiles despite himself, absently moving the cursor around the blank email, trailing the mouse over _HoranJNiall@GreysonUni.com._

"Yeah, it was sick. Thanks again, mate." As he says it, he brings up the folder full of the pictures, skimming through his favorites as he only half listens to what Harry is saying.

_"...know this mango flavor that will literally have your bullocks vibrating.."_

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that it's nearing midnight, as well as his deadline, and no matter how many times he tries to get off of the phone, Harry will not let him cut in.

He writes out a half arsed summary of his paper at the top of the page, having to start over numerous times as he keeps typing out whatever nonsense Harry is saying in his ear instead.

"Harry, I have to-" He tries again, but to no avail. Harry has drug himself into a one sided conversation about the wonders of special lubricant and the powers of body worshipping.

He rushes to link his research paper to the email, all the while trying to keep up with Harry's babbling. Once the email has been sent, he closes the laptop and tosses it to the foot of the bed, breathing a sigh of relief and flipping onto his back.

"Thank you." He interrupts, and Harry ceases his talking abruptly, like he had forgotten he was even on the phone.

 _"Anytime, mate."_ He assures, tone light and happy. _"Good night."_

Zayn smiles sleepily, "Good night, Harry."

×

"Alright class, that about sums up today's lesson." Professor Horan claps his hands together, smiling at the sighs and huffs that always comes accompanied with the ending of class.

He's wearing a tight fitting red polo today, much to Zayn's distress. It makes him look even more pale, like a fragile porcelain doll.

"When I call your name, you may come down and get your graded assignment papers." He says. "I was very impressed with your work, some more so than others.."

His eyes flick across the room, landing on Zayn for a beat longer than the rest.

Zayn swallows. He usually likes to write on major issues in whichever country he was assigned to that week. This week's country was America, and he knew what topic he wanted to do his paper on instantly.

Maybe writing in depth about the riots was a little much, but when Harry had read the paper, it almost brought him to tears, so Zayn was pretty confident in his work.

Professor Horan's stare is heavy each time it's directed at him, almost like a roaring fire igniting behind the crystal blue of his eyes.

As each student is called for their results, Zayn feels himself shrinking more and more in his chair. He's nervous as all hell, and with each name being called that is not his, he begins to regret each and every loaded word he'd typed out.

"And finally, Zayn."

For some reason, he's not surprised when he's the last one called.

He huffs out a sigh, slowly gathering his books into his backpack. As he's walking down the steps, Professor Horan strides across the room with those impossibly long legs, and locks the door.

When he makes it down to the ground floor, the young professor is leaning against his desk with arms crossed in front of his chest.

Zayn shuffles his feet with a bowed head, feeling like he's about to be scolded.

"Mr. Malik, I have to say, I was quite... _intrigued_ by your assignment work." Professor Horan says. He hasn't got any more papers on his desk, the graded papers bin empty.

_Oh god, what if Professor Horan, like, reports him to the Dean or something??_

"Professor, I know that my subject was pretty heavy, but I was sure that I executed the facts rather fair." He tries to defend himself.

Professor Horan doesn't answer for a minute, just studies Zayn with this intense stare, as if he's trying to drink him in, or like he's remembering something.

"I don't doubt that you did, Mr. Malik." He assures. Zayn's taken aback by his words. Didn't he read the paper?

He uncrosses his arms and circles around the desk, bracing his hands on the back of his beloved swivel chair. He looks at Zayn for a while, eyes slowly scanning the length of him. Zayn sees him swallow hard, eyes a bit wider than usual.

"I've always saved your assignments to read last," He shoots Zayn a quick smirk. "Always the intellect, Mr. Malik. You have a way with your words that paint an image rather than tell a story." He says. It's a rather nice compliment coming from the young professor, one that sends a herd of butterflies to erupt in a pit of flutter somewhere in his chest.

"Thank you, sir." He says bashfully, trying not to fidget under the intense stare from his teacher.

"It's you that should be thanked, Zayn." Professor Horan says softly. "I've never felt as much emotion as i do when i read your writing. You could write a twenty page paper on why birds fly and i would still shed a tear."

Zayn laughs, weakly, because he's still sort of afraid that he's failed. Professor Horan taps at his keyboard, moving the mouse around and clicking at the screen a few times with a face of concentration.

"I gave you America to write your current events on because i knew that of all people, you would dig deep and write your views on something actually _interesting._ " He's smiling as he breathes out a laugh, most likely thinking back to the basic, obviously googled, research papers most of the students do in this class for an easy A.

He stops clicking, snapping his head over to Zayn with wide eyes.

"Not that what you've submitted wasn't _interesting_ , it was just...surprising?" He looks uncomfortable, cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink in his moment of fluster. Zayn cocks his head to the side with furrowed eyebrows, confused beyond belief.

"I know that it may have gone a bit too far.." Zayn mumbles, bringing a hand up to scratch at the back of his neck nervously.

"A bit?" Professor Horan genuinely laughs this time, huffing at Zayn. "Took like ten cold showers once i'd gotten through it all." His cheeks are fiery red now, sweat breaking a line across his forehead.

Zayn pauses, "I'm not sure i understand what you mean, Professor." He admits.

Professor Horan looks at him for seven long heart beats. He seems to be searching for something in him, but Zayn hasn't got anything but confusion for him.

"Zayn." He says, like he's being told a joke and is waiting for the punchline. Zayn raises his eyebrow.

It's as if they're caught in a staring contest, silence heavy in the large lecture hall. Professor Horan's lips are pursed, thoughtful expression lost to his eyes.

"You've been very naughty, Zayn."

He's caught off guard by Professor Horan's admission, voice dark and captivating. His eyes are hooded, shoulders braced tightly from where's he leaning over the back of the chair.

Zayn laughs nervously, licking at his dry lips, startling when Professor Horan tracks the movement.

His eyes flick down to somewhere near Zayn's hip, taking his go in wetting his parched mouth. His voice is even when he speaks, eyes burning a hole where Zayn's nervously fiddling with the hem of his t shirt.

"Do you fancy me, Zayn?" He asks, enunciating each word, easy and breezy as if Zayn's heart hadn't just abandoned ship.

"Wha-"

"Because, I fancy _you_ ." He says it with a shrug, calm-cool-collected. Zayn can't _breathe._

"You-, what?" He flusters, convinced that he must be dreaming. Professor Horan doesn't seem to be anything except serious, watching Zayn carefully with those too-bright-too-blue eyes.

"C'mon, Zayn. I know you've noticed the amount of gross ogling i do when i think you're not watching." Professor Horan teases, taking the piss out on himself. "But you are always watching, aren't you?"

"Professor,” He tries weakly. Never would he have imagined the young, incredibly beautiful teacher to reciprocate the feelings he has otherwise thought to be useless.

“Come here, Zayn.” Professor Horan says, nodding his head in the direction of the swivel chair. He doesn’t remove his hands from the head rest, neither do his eyes leave their gaze on Zayn, as he tentatively moves around the desk, to sit in the chair slowly.

The screen on the computer is opened up to Professor Horan’s email inbox, Zayn’s own assignment sitting at the top, opened and waiting to be revisited again. The email itself is starred, one of the only two that have been marked as favorite in his inbox.

“Go ahead,” Professor Horan coaxes, his fingers tight behind Zayn’s head. His voice is rough, gravelly in a way that makes him sound sinister - delicious.

Zayn doesn't understand the shakiness to his hands as he reaches for the computer mouse, the feel of his professor's warm breath tickling the hairs at the back of his neck making him all the more nervous.

He chances one last glance over his shoulder before he clicks the email, Professor Horan encouraging him with a firm nod of his head.

When the file opens, Zayn is sure he's died and gone to the furthest pits of hell.

Professor Horan’s breathing has doubled in pace, leaning forward over the back of the chair until their cheeks are less than an inch apart.

Zayn scrolls through the email with his mouth open in disbelief, embarrassment coloring his face, unfortunately illuminated by the computer's screen.

He didn't think anything of the pictures once he’d had the most mind blowing orgasm of his short twenty-two years living, just tossed them aside for a rainy day.

What he didn't anticipate was that his Professor would have them in his emails, sitting unarmed in this shitty school’s mailing system, and suddenly, Zayn’s heart is skipping over every other beat, like he's on a train track and can't catch his balance.

“That one's me favorite,” Professor Horan says, reaching over Zayn's shoulder to point at the screen. It's one of the more explicit ones; a perfect shot of him mid-orgasm, mouth open around a silenced moan, his own cum splattered onto his torso like paint.

He jumps when a hand comes down to cover his own on the mouse, Professor Horan's fingers slotting between his like how a puzzle slowly comes to life, clicking in place piece by piece and then all together.

He scrolls down the file, making noises in the back of his throat at each picture like he's holding back on his comments. Zayn doesn't want him to hold back, is the thing. So, he tries to keep it casual as he leans back against the chair. He could rest his head on the professor's shoulder if he just tipped his head back and released the tense bubble of air in his chest.

Professor Horan scrolls to the bottom of the file, the veins in his hand prominent as he squeezes Zayn's hand underneath of his.

Zayn stares at the picture on the screen as Professor Horan watches _him_ instead of the much more appealing image just in front of him.

He had known that the pictures were a bit _risqué_ , to put it lightly, but seeing them now, enlarged and in higher definition...he feels down right _dirty._

“Oh my god.” He cries, trying to pull his hand out from under the tight hold the young professor has on him, but it's no use. He's just going to make Zayn sit there and face his mistakes.

“I know,” Professor Horan says. Zayn almost feels like crying, sure that his teacher is only showing this to him so that he can teach him about proper internet use and the dangers of the world.

“You're so beautiful, Zayn.” He says. It sounds like there's a rock stuck in his throat from how much conviction is in his voice.

“Wha-?” He turns his head just slightly, and there's Professor Horan, just a breath away from his own face, eyes swimming in admiration.

He's got freckles, like _everywhere_ , and Zayn suddenly wants to count them all, see if they connect to make a picture, or a constellation. He's never seen the milky way before, but it's as if he's looking through a telescope; mere freckles standing out against pale skin like stars in the night sky.

Zayn wants to kiss him.

Professor Horan beats him to it.

He stares into Zayn's eyes as he leans in slowly, diminishing that last bit of space left between them, and he only closes the distance and brings their lips together in a sea of silk, mint flavored chapstick and a surprised noise that gets caught in the back of his throat, when Zayn flicks his eyes down to Professor Horan's lips.

He spins the chair around, until he's standing in between Zayn's legs, managing to keep their lips together in a tender kiss, hands gripping either side of the arm rests.

He kisses Zayn as if he’s missed the taste of his mouth, like he’s been deprived for so long and now that he has it - not a drop shall go to waste. Or, a piece of skin untouched.

“Since those pictures, i haven’t been able to stop -,” He gets cut off by a low groan, Zayn’s teeth nipping along his jaw. “Haven’t stopped thinking about all the things i want to do to you.”

Zayn hums against his skin, “Like what?” He prompts, pulling his head back so that he can get a proper response from the professor.

“Lots.” He promises with a filthy grin. “But right now, I'm going to blow your gorgeous self while you're sitting in my chair.” He says, keeping their gazes locked as he lowers himself onto his knees. He spreads Zayn’s legs slowly, running a light touch of his hand up the inside of his thigh, causing his body to shake in a tremble.

Zayn startles once Professor Horan’s hands come up to undo the button on his pants, “Professor-,” He says. “I’ve thought about this since the first day of class.” He feels the need to inform. He doesn’t want this to just be a one-off thing, would much rather leave with what’s left of his dignity than have his feelings be crushed under the sole of Professor Horan’s boot.

“Have you now?” He grins, pleased by Zayn’s admission.

Professor Horan’s fingers are lightly stroking the top of his waistband, tips dipping underneath to scrape at his skin. He nods, swallows down the moan working its way up his throat.

“I want you, Professor. But not just - not just your body.” He rushes to explain, wanting to feel those fingers more firmly on his skin, but also needing to know where solid ground is in this situation.

Professor Horan looks at him with a smile, patiently waiting for him to finish.

“I want your mornings, and your good nights. I want to know your thoughts on the seasons and your opinions on pizza toppings. I want to stay up late with you finishing assignments, while you grade papers. I want all of you - plus, you know, your body.” He flushes at his own words, surprised at how easy it was to admit that to the man on his knees before him.

“Believe me, Zayn - I've fantasized about seeing you wake up in one of my t shirts, having you wrapped up in my arms while the world moves on around us.” Professor Horan says with a bashful smile.

“I want all of that with you,” He assures, leaning down to press a kiss to Zayn’s clothed knee. “But, right now I want to take you apart with my mouth, my fingers, and my tongue.”

It's said in what could be qualified as a growl, the lust in his eyes spreading until he looks almost sinister.

Zayn nods his head earnestly, wanting that and so much more. Professor Horan smiles at him sweetly as he pops open the button on his pants and pulls down the zipper in a slow, teasing pace.

He hikes Zayn's shirt up to his tummy, keeping his hand pressed against his belly button as he mouths at the sensitive part of his waist.

“Mm,” He hums. “Tastes like strawberries.”

Zayn lifts his hips off of the seat helpfully, eager for the way Professor Horan slides the fabric of his jeans and boxers passed his thighs and down to pool at his ankles.

“You look good with a little sparkle,” He laughs to himself, running his thumb along the remnants of glitter caked onto his skin.

Zayn grips at the arm rests with white knuckles, biting at the flesh of his bottom lip to keep from pushing his hips to the inviting sight of Professor Horan's mouth.

Professor Horan hums appreciatively at the image before him, mainly Zayn's hard dick standing at full attention for him. He grips him in his hand, and Zayn _mewls_ , sinking back into the chair with an anxious spasm in his leg.

Professor Horan flashes a smile at him, slowly starting to glide his hand along the length of him. His eyes follow the path his hand takes, up and down and twisting at the tip, tongue peeking out to swipe along his bottom lip.

He shifts on his knees, spreading Zayn's legs open farther in the process. Getting a firm hold at the base of his students full cock, he guides the tip to his mouth and traces the sensitive skin around his puckered lips. He sucks the head into his mouth, humming appreciatively at the weight on his tongue.

Zayn’s breathing has doubled to an unflattering pant, stomach muscles tight from how hard he’s trying to hold himself together.

Professor Horan keeps his lips tight around him as he sinks further down, steadily moving his hand along the skin untouched by his mouth. He starts bobbing his head when Zayn’s right leg kicks out in a desperate attempt to find footing, bringing his other hand down to squeeze at Zayn's balls that are screaming for release.

Zayn looks down at the head of blond hair bouncing in his lap, shiny slicked lips making these truly beautiful sucking sounds that have him caught between shooting off too fast or proposing marriage. He feels as if he's hanging off the edge of a cliff with no parachute, only a smile too big for this world keeping him tethered to the ground.

“Calm down petal,” Professor Horan says softly, rasp to his voice that he clears away with a sheepish smile, hand slowing its pace to a slow stroke. “want this to last.”

Zayn nods his head and breathes deeply through his nose, even when the pet name falling from the professor’s mouth sounded like the sweetest promise to his ears and makes him want to unravel in a puddle of giddy goo that unfortunately probably includes the glitter.

“Sorry, it’s just-” He pauses to just take in the genuine smile on Professor Horan’s face, the way he’s got one hand wrapped around his dick and the other rubbing at his thigh comfortingly. “bit overwhelmed.” He brings his hands to his face and tries to plug the flood gate of hormones rushing through his body.

“We can go slow.” Professor Horan assures. He smiles up at Zayn like he's eager at just the thought.

“We’ll go slow,” He says again, softer. Using Zayn's shaky legs as balance, Professor Horan pushes himself up to his feet, sweat breaking along his forehead, but the smile is still there.

“I would like to-” Zayn says, stopping with a blush to his already heated face once he sees the way Professor Horan is drinking in the sight of him with almost drooling eyes.

“I like kissing you.” He says instead, turning his head away to hide the embarrassed smile making his lips quake and his hands to cover where he's still prominently hard. Now that they've taken a breather, he feels too exposed in this classroom he attends every day to _learn_.

Professor Horan is grinning as he leans down to level his face with Zayn's, beaming his teeth childishly at his lover. He nudges Zayn's cheek with his nose, much like a rabbit, laughing against his flushed skin and seeming to be content with just snuggling against Zayn's face.

He kisses his way around Zayn's jaw, a trail of smiles tickling his skin, until he can reach the corner of Zayn's mouth and presses his lips to the stubborn smile fighting to stay off of his student's lips. He brings a hand up to Zayn's shoulder, keeping him levered so that he can chase after those plump lips he's intent on memorizing.

Zayn finally surrenders, turning his head so that his professor's eager lips swipe across his mouth and latch on without a seconds hesitation.

Professor Horan's hand slides up to cup behind his ear, controlling the movements and speed of the kiss. It’s slow and deep in a way that leaves Zayn wondering if he could live off of Professor Horan's oxygen and the way his tongue curls against his own in a sort of moonlight dance. Zayn's seeing stars.

Professor Horan pulls back once he's successfully sucked all of the air out of Zayn's lungs and replaced it with his own. He looks pleased, but more than that, he looks enamored.

“I like kissing you too.” He says, biting at his bottom lip like he's the one embarrassed. He holds his hands out, wiggling his fingers in a _come on then_ gesture. Zayn places his hands in his, letting his professor pull him up from the rolling chair, pants and boxers pooling around his ankles.

He doesn't have time to think about pulling his pants off the rest of the way before Professor Horan is pulling him in by his hips with force and joins their lips together with a happy moan that matches his fingers ministrations of mapping out Zayn's skin with light touches.

Professor Horan scratches at his skin with blunt fingernails, starting to lead him backwards by the hold he's got around Zayn's waist.

Zayn startles at first, never known for having perfect balance, but the way Professor Horan guides him with sure movements, he trusts the man to catch him if he falls.

Something cold makes contact with Zayn's back, which he realizes is the chalkboard from the way freezing cold metal is jabbing into his lower back like a bite from an ice cube. Professor Horan slides his hands to Zayn's chest once he has him effectively pinned between the chalkboard and his own clothed self, sucking Zayn's tongue into his mouth and hiking his shirt up just above his navel.

Professor Horan kisses him slow and purposefully until Zayn's slumped against the chalkboard, his heart no longer working at turbo speed, rather a steady melody that Professor Horan orchestrates with his large, warm, heavy hands.

“How is it that everything about you is breathtaking?” Professor Horan says against his lips, fingers finding his nipples through the thin fabric of his t shirt.

“Your words, the sounds you make, your mouth - mother of _shit_.” He's practically growling these words into his mouth, framing his smaller body with his wide shoulders.

Professor Horan tips his weight forward, and Zayn can feel him. He can feel the length of him through his pants, hard and full against his bare leg.

“You feel that, Zayn?” Professor Horan says. “You feel how much I want you? How much it turns me on to pleasure your body, to touch you like this?” He looks straight into Zayn's eyes as he speaks in a thick voice, mouth open to accompany his heavy breathing.

Zayn gasps as Professor Horan presses his hardness against his skin, suddenly wanting this slow pace to kick up a notch or two.

“Can I see?” He asks. “Wanna see what I do to you, professor.”

Professor Horan kisses him as he takes one of Zayn's hands in his own. It's maddening how much bigger his hands are then Zayn's, sure that his pointer finger and thumb could wrap around his wrist with no problem. The thought pulls a moan from deep within him, the mental image of his professor holding him down making his hesitant touches turn needy.Professor Horan guides his hand to the top of his pants, Zayn's open palm running down the front of his tummy and down.

They moan in sync once Zayn's hand slides over the prominent bulge in Professor Horan’s pants.

Zayn palms his arousal while kissing at his open mouth, feeling like he has the upper hand for the first time since he opened the email.

Professor Horan rocks his hips into his hand, fingers still a firm hold on his arm. He creeps his other hand under Zayn's shirt, hooking his arm behind his back and pulling them impossibly closer.

“Did you wank off to those pictures?” Zayn asks, sliding his lips over the heated skin of Professor Horan’s cheeks, rubbing his scruff along his jaw.

Professor Horan nods instantly, though he's made it abundantly clear that he has no such shame in his interest in his student. Zayn bites at the freckle just underneath the side of his jaw, tongue peeking out to taste the fevered skin.

“Can't even imagine how sensitive I was, having just been shaved.” He says, words a mere whisper. It's thrilling to know that he can turn his professor into as much of a mess as he makes him, like the playing field is balanced.

Professor Horan whines, shoving his face into Zayn's neck, clinging to him like he might float away if he lets go.

Zayn decides that if he keeps this going, Professor Horan will be finished before they've even started. He slows the pace of his hand and flicks his thumb to pop open the button on his professor's pants.

He's wearing these tight white briefs that hang off his hip bones loosely, a freckle just at the top of the waistband greeting him like a star in the night sky. He wants to see how many more he can find hiding amongst this gorgeous body.

Professor Horan turns his head so that he can press his lips to Zayn's neck, fingers making swirling patterns along his back.

Zayn pulls the zipper down slowly, but it sounds so loud to his ears, or maybe it's the blood rushing through his every nerve that amplifies the sound by a thousand.

He can see the outline of his professor's cock pressed against his briefs, already wet at the tip and ready to go. Once his hand dips into his briefs and wrap around his hardness, Professor Horan brings their mouths together in a lazy kiss, both of them too hot and dizzy with arousal to really make any proper movements.

Zayn strokes the length of him with one hand while the other works its way to push Professor Horan's briefs down his legs. He thumbs at the tip once he's successfully managed to shove Professor Horan's pants and briefs down to his ankles, which makes the young teacher moan low and heavy, hand sliding its way up Zayn's arm to his neck, where his thumb catches onto his ear.

“So good, petal. You're so-” Professor Horan cuts himself off, instead using his mouth to suck at Zayn's bottom lip. _Breathtaking,_ Zayn remembers him saying.

“I can't wait to feel you in me.” Zayn says, not feeling the least bit ashamed at his admission. He may be known as the _quiet_ kid in class, but that doesn't mean that he doesn't have a voice. He chooses to use it wisely.

Professor Horan smiles against his mouth, hair wild and mouth eager, but his eyes are so bright and he looks so _happy_ that Zayn feels like he's one giant step passed smitten.

“You're gonna be the death of me.” Professor Horan says with a bashful shake of his head. His cheeks are ruddy and his neck is about the same, making him look much younger than he lets on during class lectures. Zayn feels the need to protect him, even though Professor Horan could control every movement of his body with just his hands.

_Christ, his hands are huge._

It's easier now to pump his hand along the length of him now with the wetness of his arousal spilling from the tip generously. He's so wet that when Professor Horan pulls back just slightly, a few drops fall from Zayn's fingers and onto the floor between them.

“You want to do this right here, fuck you up against the blackboard?” Professor Horan asks. “Or maybe I'll take you on the desk, right where you sit every morning. That way you'll only think of me - of our bodies together and all the filthy things we did.”

Zayn swallows hard, wondering if it's too late to get a drop out form for the class. There's no way he's going to be able to ever step foot inside of this classroom again without at least chubbing up a little.

“Please.” He chokes out, not sure what he's asking for.

Professor Horan grins at the desperate tone to his voice, hands practically peeling Zayn's dazed body from the chalk board.

“I've got you, love.” He says. His large hands soothe the sore mark along the bottom of his back from where the tray was digging into his skin. He presses a firm hand against Zayn's chest when his body tips forward, keeping him standing upright.

“Let's get you out of these first,” He points his eyes towards the pants still clung around his ankles. “Don't want you to break that pretty neck of yours.”

He lets Zayn use his shoulders for balance as he kicks his shoes off and flails his feet from the restrictive denim. Zayn uses the time to get a feel of the defined muscle under his fingertips, nearly headbutting his professor when his foot gets caught in the fabric of his boxers. Professor Horan has his hands running up Zayn's sides, pulling the material of his shirt up to his armpits, until Zayn raises his arms and lets him remove it from his body.

He figures since he's successfully gotten his own clothes off, he might as well lend a helping hand to the man before him, squatting to his knees with a flush to his already heated cheeks.

Once Professor Horan's clothes are added to the pile of Zayn's own, he stands to his feet and smiles at the face less than an inch away from his.

“Hi.” He whispers, the simple word coming out with so much affection, it coaxes a wide smile from his professor.

“Hi there.” Professor Horan says back, smiling as he leans forward and places his lips softly against Zayn's. He pulls back just as fast, like he just couldn't help himself, which makes Zayn's smile turn nuclear.

Sliding his hand along Zayn's arm until he reaches his hand, Professor Horan tangles their fingers together and starts to pull Zayn towards the first level of seats. He stops in front of the long table top, running his hand along the cold surface with furrowed eyebrows.

His eyes dart around the room, landing on the pile of clothes at the front of the classroom l, and then he's striding purposefully across the floor in nothing but his beautiful alabaster skin. He picks Zayn's t shirt from the floor, walking back to where Zayn is standing awkwardly and lays the shirt out on the table.

He smoothes out the wrinkles in the fabric, patting his open palm against the surface once he's satisfied. He seems nervous, although sure in his movements, as he smiles over at Zayn and holds his hand out.

Zayn reaches out automatically, letting Professor Horan pull him into his side. He slides his arms around Professor Horan's neck, the young teacher's hands going to his hips and positioning him so that he's between the edge of the table and Professor Horan's gloriously naked body. He finds that he likes being crowded in by his teacher, a sense of comfort and normality in the gesture.

Professor Horan helps him to sit atop the table, moving in between Zayn's open legs and hugging his arms around his waist. It should be awkward, hugging his professor while they're both in their bare skin, but it only serves to relax Zayn's nerves and have him feeling like he's in a bubble of bliss.

“Gonna lay you down now, petal.” Professor Horan says. He keeps his arms hooked around Zayn's back as he eases him into lying down on the table top, sliding his hands across the skin on his hips with dark eyes.

He snaps out of his trance, smiling down at Zayn, before he's taking off across the room so fast, Zayn nearly topples off the table when he sits up.

“Just getting a few things, beautiful. Don't worry.” He says across the room, rummaging around in one of his desk drawers. Once he finds what he needs, Professor Horan strides back over to the table and Zayn can see the silver foil and clear bottle palmed in one of his hands.

He's relieved to know that the young teacher is prepared, but also curious as to why he has those exact supplies in his desk.

Professor Horan must see the curiosity on his face, neck blushing a vibrant red. He places the items a spot above Zayn's head, not looking at his student as he fumbles over an explanation.

“Those pictures really got me uhm, you know. I wasn't really sure if I was gonna be able to make it through the day with you sitting there being- well, being _you_. Figured I might as well prepare for a wank if needed in the teacher's lounge bathroom.” He huffs a breath up to the ceiling like he's embarrassed, but Zayn just grabs one of his hands in his own and tugs until their lips meet in the middle.

“I like the thought of you enjoying the pictures.” He says earnestly against his lips. It seems to shake the nerves out of Professor Horan's body, angling his head down and kissing Zayn more passionately while his left hand squeezes at his hip, thumb pressed to the black heart inked to his skin.

Professor Horan leads the kiss, Zayn content with just following his movements and chasing after his tongue.

“M’gonna open you up, see if your moans are as poetic as your writing.” He teases, but it sends a shiver up Zayn's spine, Professor Horan's warm hands chasing away the chill.

He reaches for the travel sized lube blindly, more invested in kissing Zayn within an inch of his life. Once Professor Horan finds purchase on the bottle, he opens it with the hand not holding onto his student's hip, Zayn's bones jumping along with the _snick_ of the cap. He can feel Professor Horan's mouth curling into a smile against his lips.

There's a moment where the only part of Professor Horan that is touching Zayn is his lips, but then he's curling gentle fingers around one of Zayn's ankles, guiding him into raising his leg on the table.

Zayn moans, low and needy, into Professor Horan's mouth when he feels a slick finger run along the crack of his ass, nudging at his hole.

“Slow.” Professor Horan repeats, and that's exactly the speed he goes, teasing Zayn's rim for what feels like a minute frozen in time.

He curls his tongue against Zayn's upper lip the moment he slips his finger passed the tight muscle, swallowing Zayn's moan and pushing his own right back into his mouth.

He keeps his finger there, wiggling it just slightly. When he pulls his lips away, Zayn pouts.

“Shh, love. None of that.” Professor Horan says softly. “Jus’ gonna get more comfortable.”

Zayn follows his every step as he trots up the steps to the first row, cock hard and bouncing against his belly with each step. He pulls out the chair closest to Zayn's feet, testing his stability on the seat with one foot. Hiking himself up, Professor Horan situates himself on the table and carefully rises to his knees, holding Zayn's legs for balance.

“Much better.” He says gleefully, taking in Zayn's body like it's a treasure map. He picks up the bottle of lube from where he’d tossed it near Zayn's head, adding a small amount to his already wet finger.

“Do you make it a habit to take explicit pictures of yourself and send them in as your homework assignment?” Professor Horan says with a hint of teasing, pushing his finger inside of Zayn as soon as he opens his mouth to reply.

“ _Mmm_ -no, was a special event.” Zayn says breathily. “Had this lube that felt _amazing,_ couldn't even hold out for longer than five minutes, like.”

Professor Horan’s finger starts to slowly move in and out of him, his other hand stroking the skin of Zayn's bent knee.

“Wish I had brought it with me.” He says wistfully. He thinks about how Professor Horan had brought his own lube to school, and then he thinks about the _reason_ why Professor Horan had those items packed in his briefcase for the day. He averts his eyes when Professor Horan looks up at his alarmed face, staring at the desk chair that just makes his heart beat faster.

Professor Horan's finger stops moving, though it still remains inside of him.

“Gonna take you out proper after this.” He says, smile in his voice. He starts to move his finger again, this time adding some speed and crooking it just so.

Zayn glances over at him, hips following the movement of his finger.

“Wanna get a chance to _actually_ impress you, not here in this drag of a school.” He says, looking Zayn in the eyes, smile growing by the second until he laughs, loud and giggly. Zayn can't help but to laugh along with him, the sight making all of his negative thoughts disappear and replaces them with sunshine.

“This is like a bad porno.” Zayn says through his laughing, tears shining in his eyes. Professor Horan seems delighted that he could get Zayn out of his own thoughts quickly, shaking his head at Zayn fondly.

“The _best_ porno. It wouldn't even be classified as pornography, it’d just be a masterpiece.” He says, pushing a second wet finger to his rim.

Zayn's gasp ceases his laughter, toes curling against the table and hands gripping on either side of the edge.

Professor Horan eases in his second finger with a comforting squeeze to Zayn's knee. He starts to move them when Zayn lets out the breath he was holding, eyes trained on where he's starting to scissor his fingers.

He moves them inside of Zayn intently and unhurried like he's preparing for a test, one that Zayn is more than happy to give him.

“You have such thick fingers, make me feel so full.” Zayn says. He brings the back of his hand up to wipe away the sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, watching the way Professor Horan’s changes with each reaction he gets out of Zayn.

Professor Horan opens Zayn apart on his two fingers, smirking whenever Zayn gasps, beaming a wide smile when he hits certain spots inside of him that make Zayn's eyes roll back.

By the time he adds a third finger, Zayn's legs are shaking and he can't even control the volume of his moans anymore, which just seems to please Professor Horan even more.

“Talk to me, love. How are you feeling?” Professor Horan asks. He's fucking his fingers at a steady pace, squeezing his fingers around Zayn's knee in random intervals like he needs something to ground himself.

Zayn nods, and then shakes his head, his now floppy hair brushing across his eyelashes.

“Need you, _please_.” He nearly cries, opening his legs as wide as they can go without his feet falling off the edge of the table. Professor Horan nods his head, stretching Zayn with a few more thrusts of his fingers.

Zayn breathes in a shaky inhale when Professor Horan removes his fingers, looking up to the ceiling for a moment to catch his breath.

When Professor Horan reaches over Zayn's body for the condom packet, he takes a second to press a kiss to Zayn's nose, his chin and his lips.

He tears the packet open easily, sliding the latex on his own hard cock and shuffling on his knees to better fit between Zayn's legs, positioning himself at his pulsing hole.

He grasps at Zayn's calf, pulling his leg around his waist and pushes the tip passed his rim. He eases in slowly, watching Zayn's face for any discomfort.

“Look so good under me.” Professor Horan says in this wrecked voice that sends a chill down to Zayn's fingertips. He leans forward, pushing farther into Zayn and kisses the skin over his racing heartbeat.

Once he bottoms out, they stay like that for a moment, reveling in the feel of the others body, the way they are connected in more ways than one. 

Professor Horan slides his hands up Zayn's arms, pinning them above his head and lacing their fingers. They move together as one, Zayn's ankles crossing at the small of Professor Horan's back, aiding in the rolling motion his hips move in, letting Zayn feel all of him inside.

Professor Horan leans down to connect their lips, pulling out and pushing back in, knocking a moan from deep in Zayn's chest. He rocks into him faster, squeezing their hands each time Zayn clenched around him impossibly tight.

Zayn knows that neither of them are going to last long, now with how long they've spent on the build up. He feels ready to break apart at the seams, sucking Professor Horan's bottom lip in his mouth and biting lightly.

He feels like he's on the same level of arousal as he was with the orgasm intensified lube, except this time is so much better because he has his favorite pair of lips panting against his own and hands clutching his own that seem like they were made just for him.

Professor Horan grunts against his mouth, kissing him deeper, as his hips pick up speed, keeping Zayn in place by the hold he has on his hands.

“Gonna come for me? Wanna see it in action this time, hear that final moan that rings victory.” He says gruffly, snapping his hips harder, slowing the pace until he's grinding deep within him. The sporadic rhythm of his hips makes Zayn's head spin, stomach muscles clenching in heated arousal.

“Please.” Zayn says barely above a whimper. Professor Horan, with some resistance from Zayn, unlaces one of their hands and trails it down Zayn's fevered torso, wrapping around his dick that is screaming for release.

“Come for me - come _with_ me.” Professor Horan says. Zayn nods his head fervently, mouth parted around uncontrollable whimpers leaking passed his lips.

Professor Horan strokes him faster, timing the pace of his hips with the speed of his hand. He's breathing hard, staring down at Zayn's wrecked face with heavy hooded eyes.

Zayn brings his unoccupied hand down to scratch at the hair on Professor Horan's chest, digging his nails in the skin and watching as it leaves behind pink lines, feeling the thumping of his heart under his fingertips.

He splays his palm over the area of his heart, breath knocked out of him with every thrust Professor Horan gives him. He locks eyes with the young teacher, and they both lean into each other to join their lips in a passionate, fire filled kiss.

They climax at nearly the exact same time, pouring moans into each other's mouths but never once slowing down the intensity of the kiss.

When the waves of pleasure subside and the aftershocks jumping through their bones stop, Professor Horan pulls his spent dick out of him and rests his head in the crook of Zayn's neck. He brings his hand up between them and swipes his tongue over the spill of Zayn's cum, humming at the taste as Zayn watches on in wonderment.

They breathe together, Zayn moving his head so he can inhale the sweet smelling blond hair tickling his ear, snuggling against his professor's head affectionately.

Professor Horan gets up after a minute or two, removing the soiled condom and moving across the room to his desk, tying the latex and hiding it at the bottom of the trash can, under loose papers and granola bar wrappers.

He comes back over to Zayn with a spare white t shirt, smiling fondly at his drained body, leaning down to press a long kiss to his lips that almost puts Zayn to sleep.

“Make sure to send in that assignment by tomorrow morning.” Professor Horan says with a devilish smile, pinching at the black heart inked onto Zayn's hip.

He walks over the their pile of clothes by the chalkboard, starting to redress, looking over his shoulder at Zayn and smiling bashfully when he sees that he hasn't moved an inch.

“Galaxy Lube,” Zayn says to himself in amazement, shaking his head with a laugh and pushing himself up to join his professor at the front of the classroom.

**Author's Note:**

> firm believer in niall getting off to other people's pleasure.


End file.
